


Post Script Port Said

by LadyRoxie



Series: Between the Shadow and the Soul [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Doing it on a boat, F/M, Longform sexytimes, Shameless Smut, So did you, They earned it, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 03:16:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRoxie/pseuds/LadyRoxie
Summary: After a dark and unreasonably rough time given them in Between the Shadow and the Soul, some sweet sexy times for Phrack.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little shameless smut for everyone who hung in there for all the trauma in Between the Shadow and the Soul. Phrack earned it, for sure, and heck, so did all of you lovelies. Happy Friday!

Jack Robinson leaned on the polished railing of the ship, the drink in his hand suspended over the torrent of pale foam slicing through the canal below him. Warm light from the First Class dining room poured onto the deck from open doors and portholes, and the top notes of a string quartet floated out on the scent of cigars and brandy.

Despite the magnificent orange sunset splashed on the horizon, he had little company on the deck; most passengers had boarded long before he and Phryne had in Port Said, and the sun set everyday. Besides, a sunset over the narrow canal was nothing compared to one at sea, and the dancing had begun. But Jack knew they'd be out of the passage by morning, and stood marvelling at it before darkness fell. 

He smiled, though anyone watching would have been hard-pressed to discern the change to his expression. 

“Not dancing then?” he said into the warm breeze.

“Dammit, Jack, I could not have been quieter!” Phryne appeared beside him, her pale shoulders bouncing in a huff and making the beading on her dress throw the sunset like sparks. 

“It seems to me, Miss Fisher, that we have discussed this before.” Jack brought his drink to his lips before turning slightly to look her. “And don't I recall a promise to wear less?”

Phryne couldn’t help grinning, shaking her head lightly and turning so the railing was at her back.

“Mmm. So I did. But come to think of it, my gown may be long, but I'm actually wearing comparatively few items of clothing, Inspector.” Phryne's eyes went innocently wide.

“Is that so.” 

“Absolutely. Let me think... Why, with the exception of my shoes, I count no more than three...no, two garments on my person.” She rested a manicured finger on her lips and tilted her head down as if to get a confirming look at herself. 

Jack cleared his throat. 

“Two.”

“Mmhmm.”

Christ, even Jack could do that math. 

“That seems a trifle unfair, Miss Fisher, seeing as how thanks to your intervention, I am currently sporting no fewer than...” He feigned counting on his fingers, eyes to the clouds. “Thirty or forty pieces of clothing, most of which seem to have no function whatsoever. I'd like to blame you, but as even the Captain admired my suit, I suppose that might be bad form.”

Jack's eyes were twinkling in the fading light, and Phryne felt a thrill from her knees to her ears.

It had to be said, the man wore a tuxedo incredibly well. She had worried Jack was going to balk when she informed him, three weeks after the horrifying incident at with Denholm Sykes, and three days into his more comfortable convalescence at the Casino Place Hotel, that she had made an appointment for him with Port Said's most sought-after tailor. 

The truth was, Jack hadn't had any argument to make – once he'd been discharged from the British Hospital, he'd had exactly one very flimsy, very sheer nightgown to his name. (Technically it was a beautifully embroidered traditional Egyptian _galibaya_ , but as he was not a traditional Egyptian man, he was going to need some clothes.) 

And so he had stood, in a cool, dark shop not far from the hotel, while a man with whom Phryne was somehow on a first-name-basis mere minutes after meeting him poked and prodded and draped and pinned, and otherwise interfered with Jack's personal space. Jack knew in years to come he would not remember the man's name (Mr. Cohen) or the taste of the sweet mint tea his daughter served, or the impossible lightness of the wool or the crispness of the linen as it was folded around him. 

All that would linger was the look of absolute desire on Phryne Fisher's face as she sat watching him. It had been nearly more than Jack could manage, given his weakened condition. Every shift of his arms to allow the tailor's chalk, every glimpse of throat beneath an unbuttoned collar seemed to deepen the intensity of her gaze to the point where he thought he might be set alight, all while being ten feet across a tile floor.

As it was, he'd had to flex his abdominal muscles to the point of aggravating his incision in order to keep his body under control. Whatever became of himself and Miss Fisher, Jack had decided then and there this was the first and last time she accompanied him to the tailor. It was awkward enough having a stranger measure his inseam without worrying he was about to offend the poor gentleman to the point of apoplexy. 

But even Jack had had to admit, Phryne's sartorial influence was impressive, and as a result, Jack's trunk was nearly as full as her own when they boarded the _Strathnaver_ three weeks later. 

Those weeks had been as gentle as the months preceding had been harrowing. Jack would greet Phryne late every morning from their customary table on the terrace of the hotel, and they would share breakfast, the newspaper, and a pot of tea. Days were spent reading on the gracious balcony, or taking slow strolls along the shoreline, or venturing into the bustling town for lunch or tea as Jack was feeling stronger. 

Neither spoke of the attacks. Phryne never asked Jack about the long, dark weeks of his stay with Habiba Mohammed, but occasionally, when they were sharing a glass of port after dinner, or walking arm in arm through the gardens of the hotel, he would confess small, precious things, and she would have to force herself not to wrap him so closely in her arms that they'd risk upsetting strangers. Instead, she carefully tucked each revelation into her heart, and only squeezed his hand a little tighter than normal. 

Jack's healing had been mercifully uncomplicated, but both of them knew that was a gift not to be taken for granted. And so, despite a frisson that grew exponentially by the day, even Phryne had followed the doctor's prescription uncharacteristically faithfully – no strenuous exercise until he gave the final go ahead. 

At first, Jack's soreness and fatigue combined with their mutual delight at finally and simply being together meant that the prohibition of any activities more athletic than an ardent embrace felt bearable. The torture quickly lost its sweet edge though, and before long, the it came to feel far more mountain than mole hill. 

Jack was sure this was harder by far than if he'd had to have his stitches replaced with a blunt needle and no anaesthetic. Each flicker of Phryne's eyes to his lips set his pulse pounding in his ears. He wondered at the nature of the electric current he felt when slowly stroking the curve of her palm as they sat watching great ships crawl across the horizon. His body was in a constant state of arousal, every moment with her he felt like a tinder next to a flame; every moment out of her presence was spent aching. A simple discussion of where to walk that afternoon could turn him inside out, just from his gaze lingering too long on the curve of her breast under her blouse, or the delicate pulse in her throat.

For her part, Phryne had never, not once in her carnal and colourful life, wanted anyone so badly. Her skin felt like it was being vibrated from the inside; the warm, wet ache at her core so overwhelming that she worried she might combust in full view of the stuffy English expats in the the hotel dining room the time Jack leaned over and accepted the morsel of roast chicken off her fork. Those lips... that lovely wide mouth.... she was afraid she hadn't heard a word he'd said in weeks, so consumed was she with imagining those lips on her skin, his hands on every part of her.

For three weeks, they did no more than kiss, and the whole landscape of their history was felt in those kisses. Some were teasing and some were tender, some were voluptuous; but increasingly, they were a glaringly bad substitute for what they wanted to be doing. 

The night before they sailed, Jack had lightly held Phryne's hand as he'd followed her up the wide stone staircase of the hotel to their rooms, which were a tragically long hallway from each other. He was slightly tipsy from the wine at dinner, and mesmerized by the sway of her hips in her satin gown. When they reached the landing, she'd swung him gracefully into an alcove and pressed the entire length of herself against him. Jack felt his breath leave his body as she captured his lips, and he grasped her hips hard enough to rend the blush silk.

“Jesus, Phryne, give a man some warning...”

Phryne trailed the hand not holding her evening bag down the back of his head, raking her nails through the fine hairs above his collar.

“Where'd be the fun in that? Besides, Jack, I'm fairly sure every single _moment_ of the last few weeks has been fair enough warning.”

She twisted her hips against him and revelled in the groan he couldn't contain. Swallowing hard, Jack stroked his hands up her back, enjoying her shiver, before settling again on her hips. 

“One more day, Phryne. One day. I'll see the doctor in the morning, and we'll board the ship, and by this time tomorrow...”

A whimper escaped her, and Jack couldn't resist pulsing himself against her, his tongue slipping between her lips and mimicking the thrusts of his pelvis.

“God, Jack, I can't wait anymore... please....” 

They were both panting now, and Jack pulled back, swallowing hard and resting his forehead against hers.

“We can. I know we can.” His response to her scowl was a downright lascivious smile, and he kissed her again. 

Finally she lowered her arms to wrap around his waist, and sighed, her tucking her head under his chin. A pale hand came to rest over where she knew the fresh pink scar lay, healed now beneath his clothes. 

“I'll have you know this level of self restraint is entirely unprecedented, Jack Robinson.” She felt his chuckle. “Well, for _me_ , anyway. I shall be expecting some kind of reward.” 

Jack's head lowered and gooseflesh broke out over her skin as his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“I have every intention of rewarding you, Miss Fisher. Over and over and over again....”

Phryne let out a gravelly moan and Jack laughed softly again. It might be the worst torture he'd ever experienced, but there was no denying, the knowledge that he was the man driving Phryne Fisher mad with desire was a heady thing. 

He gallantly held out his elbow, and covered her hand with his as she nestled it in the crook of his arm. They walked slowly down the corridor to her room, her head resting lightly on his shoulder.

“Until tomorrow, then?” 

“Another adventure, Jack.” Pressing one hand to his chest, she leaned up to kiss him, her lips curling into a grin at his sudden gasp – her other hand had settled firmly over the bulge in his trousers. 

He seized the hand in question (it could never be deemed ' _offending_ ') and brought it to his lips. 

“Wicked.... wicked.... woman,” he whispered, kissing her palm between each word.

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, each knowing the other was as deliciously tormented as they themselves. 

“Sleep well, Inspector.”

“Not likely, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne watched Jack's retreating figure until he reached his own room. The wry tilt to his lips lingered in her mind well past the time she turned out the light. 

***

That had been 24 hours ago, and now they found themselves free of Port Said and its complicated memories, free even of the ballast of their respective identities, (for here they were known only as Mr. and Mrs. Fisher-Robinson, thanks to a mysterious confusion on the part of the ship's purser; a confusion that had resulted in only a single, luxurious suite having been kept for them). Now they were free too of the burden of being the Most-Newly-Arrived Faces in First Class, a distinction which had demanded their presence at a cocktail party soon after boarding, and at the Captain's table soon after that. 

So it was that it was only now, when Jack had used the sunset as an excuse to retreat to the deck, and Phryne had graciously disencumbered herself of the last in a long line of hopeful dance partners, that they found themselves alone.

Phryne smoothed a ringed hand over her thigh, making the beading on her pale gold dress flicker in the light from the party. Leaning sideways against the railing, Jack watched the path of her palm and felt the now-familiar flush of _want_ surge through him.

“Inspector, I don't believe you've made a comment about my gown. The bead work is exquisite, isn't it? And the colour.... I believe it was termed _Pale Champagne_...”

Jack wet his lips and let his eyes drop to her bare ankles. As his gaze travelled slowly up her body, Phryne swore could feel the heat of it. He held her eyes as he set his glass down on a low table, and straightened.

“Jack...” The word was barely a whisper. 

He took a step towards her, grasping her waist, his fingers warm against the bare skin of her back. His eyes were as dark as the sea behind them as he pulled her to him, his other hand coming to nestle in the shiny black hair at her nape. 

His words, when he spoke them, were breathed into her ear.

“The fact is, Miss Fisher, I couldn't even tell you the approximate shade of your gown, much less the name of the hue. The only bloody thing I have been able to think of all night is how much of your body it's touching, and how I plan to take it off you.”

Speechless, she tilted her head and found his already parted lips. Each tried to deepen the kiss more than the other, and Phryne's hand came up to tangle roughly in Jack's hair. Her body was flush with his, and she felt the hard length of him pressing against her. 

Phryne was well familiar with the effects of Jack Robinson on her body. From their very first meeting in Lydia Andrews' bathroom, she'd felt the tingle of attraction. And in the months and years since, with each private smile, each flex of his powerful bicep under her fingers and his suits, each time she felt his breath on the back of her fingers when she fiddled with his tie, she had delighted in her body's responses. She had secreted away each sensual cause and effect, drawing them out often when she was alone to revel in.

But Jack Robinson aroused was the single most erotic thing she'd ever experienced. 

“God Jack, if you don't take me back to our room immediately, I'm going to have you right here on a deck chair,” she breathed.

His low rumble was a much a growl as speech. “One more minute and I might not stop you...”

The grin that broke across her face was glittering, and she couldn't resist kissing him deeply again before grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the open dining room doors.

“Ah, Phryne...” Jack stopped, tugging gently on her hand. When she turned around, the question in her eyes, he smiled bashfully and looked down.

“Why Inspector, not interested in scandalizing the First Class guests?”

“Strangely, I have a feeling I might not have a choice in whether or not it happens eventually, but what say we don't make it our first night on board, _Mrs. Fisher-Robinson_.”

Phryne giggled and quickly reassessed their exit. “You may be right – after all, we wouldn't want the rest of the ladies on board to see just what they're missing... This way, though I can't promise we won't meet anyone in the corridors...” She winked.

Jack wouldn't remember the furtive race back to their staterooms, except that mercifully, they met no one; there was only so much a well-cut dinner jacket could hide. 

“You have the key, Jack,” breathed Phryne as they stopped in front of their door. But as he went to reach into his front pocket to retrieve it, Phryne shook her head.

“Let me?”

Jack stared at her a moment, then she saw his eyes darken. He raised one arm and pressed his palm into the doorframe beside her head. With the other hand, he pulled back the flap of his white jacket, angling his hip deliberately towards her. Almost in slow motion, Phryne slipped her hand into his pocket, her lashes fluttering as she felt the heat of his thigh through the thin lining. Her fingers wrapped around the key, but then moved forward, brushing against his erection.

Jack's eyes flew closed. “ _Fuck_ , Phryne....” The muscles in his jaw clenched as he fought to get himself under control. 

She wanted to say something clever, something flirty, but the reality that she was all but palming Jack Robinson's cock was making language difficult. Instead, she reached up and ran her tongue along the pulse point in his throat, and he shuddered.

“Key, lock, _now_.”

She slowly withdrew her hand from his pocket, and he watched her chest rise and fall. Her eyes seemed as deep as pools, dark and liquid and dangerous. She brought the key to her bottom lip, her eyes closing as she felt its warmth – _Jack's warmth_ – then trailed it achingly slowly down her throat, her clavicle, and almost into her décolletage. 

“God Phryne, what are you doing to me?” Jack's breath was heaving, and he had to shut his eyes for a moment to focus. Taking the key from her, he quickly fit it into the lock and opened the door, flicking on the light and stepping back to let her enter. 

***

Before she even heard the heavy door click shut, Phryne felt Jack's hands at her hips. 

“It should be _illegal_ what you make me feel.” His mouth latched on to the delicate skin just below her ear, and she shuddered, feeling her knees go weak. “I want you _now_.”

She reclined her head onto his shoulder, reaching her hands back to clasp his thighs. He was pressed tightly to her back, the length of his cock hard as steel against her bottom. The roughness of the beading of her dress plucked at her nipples, and she whimpered, lightheaded at the mixed sensations. 

“Let me see you. Please Phryne... Let me feel you.” Jack's hands were shaking as he brought them to the wide straps of her gown, and the realization made her heart clench. Dear, beautiful Jack. 

She turned in his arms, bringing her hands to his cheeks and kissing him slowly and deeply. She had never, not ever, been kissed like this. Kissing Jack was like swimming naked in the ocean – suspended in something deep and powerful that reached every cell in her body. She would have feared that she was already addicted, but somehow, there was no danger there to fear. It was as though, the closer they got, the more his own ego disappeared and what was left was all for her, pure and solid and as bright and warm as the sun. 

“Make love to me, Jack Robinson,” she whispered into his ear, her hands uncharacteristically clumsy as she worked to loosen his white silk bow tie. “And let me make love to you. It's all I want. And I want you so badly, I thought I might come just feeling your hand on my back tonight.”

Phryne swallowed Jack's groan as she kissed him, sweeping his jacket off and flicking open the clasps of the satin cummerbund. When it dropped to the floor, she pulled her mouth away, desperate to get to his skin. Delightfully, he had nearly finished popping the studs on his dress shirt, his suspenders hanging loose at his hips. Her smudged red lips furled into a feline grin.

“Jack Robinson, how gorgeously uncouth of you,” she purred, pushing the fine cotton from his shoulders. “No singlet? I very much approve...”

“Although it does still leave thirty-nine items of clothing, I thought you might appreciate a lack of unnecessary obstacles,” he said, familiar smirk firmly in place.

“Clever man.” 

“Oh you have no idea,” Jack growled, beginning to slip the straps of her gown down her powdered arms.

“ _Show me_ ,” she breathed.

Jack stepped back and unclasped his cufflinks, tucking them in his trouser pocket with his studs, and let the shirt fall from his wrists. 

Phryne's eyes flickered to the slash on his chest. She swept a hand reverently over the scar, unable to resist the thought of how close they had come to losing each other. 

“Stay with me, love,” he said, his voice like thick velvet. “Be here with me...”

She looked back into his eyes. _That look_. More than anything, it was that look, the one that said she was delightful and dangerous all at once, the one that said he _wanted_ her to be both. To anyone looking, it was a look of teasing, of censure; a look that pointed out their differences. She was one way, he was not.

But to her, oh to her, it had meant only this: “I want you. I want _you_.”

Her hand stilled on his chest.

“Tell me if it hurts?” she said softly.

Jack lay his large hand over hers, then brought her fingers to his lips. “That isn't where I'm feeling an ache, Miss Fisher.”

She traced his beautiful lips with one finger, and gasped when he drew it into his mouth. His tongue swirled expertly around the tip, with just enough suction to cause a new flood of wetness between her thighs.

“... Your mouth...oh god Jack....”

“Bed,” he said lowly, kissing her palm.

She nodded. “But first...” She release the hand that had been holding the gown to her chest, and let the heavy straps fall from her arms. The weight of the beading pulled the fabric down past her hips to pool with a delicate clatter at her feet. Phryne was left standing before him in fine gold sandals and silk knickers the colour of fresh cream.

Jack knew he'd never seen anything so beautiful. She glowed far more than she might have in any dress, and when he saw her slip her thumbs into the waistband of the silk, he let out a strangled moan.

“Phryne, if we don't get to that bed right... now... I am going to injure myself. Because the moment I put one hand on your body... I think I might explode.”

Phryne swallowed heavily. “We have all night, Jack. All night, all day...” She stepped forward and pressed her breasts against his naked chest, shifting slightly back and forth to feel the roughness of his hair brush against her nipples. “We have,” she whispered. “All the time in the world.”

He didn't mistake her meaning. This wasn't a flippant comment about sex, or a quip about tonight, or even this journey. This was as close as he could imaging Phryne Fisher ever coming to speaking words of commitment, and they brought the hot prick of tears to his eyes.

“Come,” he said, taking her hand. She followed him silently to the small bedroom. She wanted to tell him she meant it, that she wasn't afraid, that she somehow knew it was good and real and safe; that she trusted him – trusted them – enough to know that she could be with him as long as they wanted. But she couldn't form the words and bring herself to break whatever spell had been cast.

When they drew alongside the bed, Jack reached behind her to turn on the small lamp. He rested his hands on her shoulders, kissing first her lips, then her throat, then her collarbone, all the while running his hands over her skin. Her arms. Her ribs. Her thighs. When his lips reached her breast, he pulled back and looked up at her, standing so still for him. He wished he could express his honour, his gratitude. He suspected Phryne Fisher was rarely, if ever, the seduced, but this was so much something he needed to do for her. That she was letting him meant more than he could ever say. 

So he stared into the black-blue of her eyes, and hoped she saw everything he felt. Her gaze was beatific – she was radiant, but with kindness and soft things, and it nearly overwhelmed him to know that those things were for him. 

A flick of his tongue at the point of her rosy nipple provoked a gasp, and her fingers tightened in the loosened curls of his hair. Softening his tongue, he traced wide, firm circles around her breast, getting agonizingly closer to the peak. Phryne was moaning, her hips beginning to move against his chest. Finally he drew the peak into his mouth, suckling strongly on it until her moan became a wail, and he felt the half moons of her nails digging into his shoulders. Above him, Phryne began whispering his name, cursing softly and undulating her hips. 

A new wave of arousal crashed over him – she was so vibrant, so responsive, he worried he might climax just from her gorgeous sounds, just from the feel of her. Never in his life had he been with a woman who openly wanted him this much, who revelled in the feel of his mouth and his hands. He had to pull back to catch his breath, letting his fingers continue to pinch and pull at one nipple as he gentled his mouth to lick firmly at the first. An almost over whelming need to use his mouth on her sex gripped him, to feel her slippery silkiness, to taste her. A deep, desperate sound reverberated in his chest and he flung his hand down to his cock, gripping it hard through his trousers to stop himself from climaxing. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head forward to rest it on her sternum. 

Her hands carded through his curls, soothing and seductive at the same time. He glanced up, the question in his eyes answered with a naughty smile. 

Slowly, Jack's large fingers drew on the cord of her tap pants and he heard her soft intake of breath as he lowered the silk away from her body. Her scent hit him suddenly, mingled with the familiar notes of her perfume, and he felt his cock grow impossibly harder against the tight confines of his trousers. 

_How could he be here? How could this be real?_

Fingernails on his scalp startled him out of his reverie. He looked up, certain his eyes were as desperate and wild as he felt, and he thrilled when hers were every bit the same. The smile was gone, replaced with such a look of need that he groaned. Holding her eyes, he slid his hands up her smooth calves, feeling the warmth of her skin increase as they drew higher, until he held her plump, velvet ass in his palms. 

At her urgent moan of his name, he brought one hand around and slipped his fingers between her thighs, just ghosting over her sex. 

She was dripping.

“Jesus fuck, Phryne. So wet. So _fucking_ wet.”

“Jack please... I'm already so close... I need.... please more....”

He pressed his fingers up against her and swore again as they slipped wildly through her folds. His head was spinning. Without thinking, he urged her thighs apart and thrust two fingers inside her, his cock throbbing at her cry. Two fingers easily became three, swirling, plunging, then coming forward to caress her clit. Lips and tongue and teeth on her nipple and he felt himself ready to burst. 

“Yes... yes Jack...”

“Wait,” he said, gulping air. His fingers stilled, still luxuriating inside her. “I want to give you everything, Phryne. I want to find every single way to make to moan and to make you come. But I need to be inside you. I... I'm so fucking close, and I need to feel you come around me.”

His voice was strained with desperation, and Phryne nearly shattered at the rawness of it, at how on edge he was. But she could do this for him, and she forced herself to nod, pulling him up to standing. Holding his eyes, she undid the buttons on his trousers, careful not to tease. He was straining against the fabric, a damp patch visible near the waistband. As his cock sprang free, she had to clench her thighs at the groan of relief from deep in his chest. She pushed his trousers and smalls down slowly, running her hands over the muscles in his corded thighs as she did.

Kneeling, she unlaced the polished black brogues and unclipped his garters, nimbly slipping him out of shoes, socks, trousers and smalls all at once. Resting back on her heels, she stared at him, delighting in his ease with his body. If she had thought him handsome in his tailored suits, it was nothing compared to him now, standing before her taut, hard, and radiating desire. He was utterly _beautiful_.

Jack's confidence swelled at the look of adoration on her face.

“C'mere,” he said softly, offering his hand.

Phryne regarded him from her crouch on the floor, her eyes flicking mischievously to his groin, and licking her lips. She _was_ tantalizingly close....

Jack gave her a sexy, lopsided smile, but his voice was gentle. “Love, have mercy.”

Phryne rose and stepped out of her shoes. She wrapped her arms around his chest and they stood like that, his cheek on her hair, hers against his heart, nothing at all between them. 

“I do so love you, Phryne Fisher,” he whispered. His eyes closed, and he buried his face in her hair.

“My love. My Jack.” 

Phryne's hands smoothed down his back, beginning to memorize the landscape of his skin: the pits of old scars, the knots of muscle, the reassuring solidness of bone. When she reached his buttocks, she pulled him tighter towards her, and felt his cock press urgently against her stomach.

She coaxed him back onto the bed and climbed over him, not able to contain the wicked smile that spread from her lips to her eyes.

As she leaned in to him, flicking his lips teasingly with her tongue, he felt the wet heat between her legs glide over his shaft and once again he was rock hard and trembling. Phryne slid back and forth, her slim hips moving hypnotically. She sat up, a deadly smirk upon her lips, and twisted her pelvis in a way that made Jack gasp.

“ _Fuck_...” 

“Open your eyes, Jack...” she said, rising to her knees and beginning to stroke the length of him with one hand, the other gently trailing over his chest. “I want to see you...”

The vision that swam before him put to shame every dream and fantasy Jack had had in the last two years, which was saying a very good deal. 

Phryne sat astride him, her chest flushed with arousal, her black hair thick and tangled, her eyes brighter and clearer than he ever remembered seeing them. Her hand was a satin glove around his tortured cock and her name escaped his lips like a prayer.

“Is this how you want me, Jack? Is this how you imagined me?”

He raised a hand to her breast, drawing a ragged breath as he felt its gorgeous weight in his palm. Watching her eyes, he stroked towards the centre until he had captured her nipple, as pink and tight as a rosebud, between his thumb and forefinger, and grinned as her lashes fluttered closed. 

“Yes, Jack.... harder....”

“God Phryne, all those months... All those tantalizing glimpses of this.... of you.... You nearly drove me out of my mind.... You have no idea what I've wanted to do to all your beautiful silk...” His voice was a growl and Phryne gasped as he pushed himself up on one elbow and brought his mouth to her breast. 

She caught his wince, the wound on his chest protesting, and hushed him, using her chest to press him back into the pillows, her lean thighs holding her over him. 

“I want to know everything.... Every thought and fantasy you've ever had, and I'll tell you mine.” 

She grasped him firmly and rose again, notching the head of his cock at her entrance and lowering herself a mere fraction.

“ _God yes _....” he gasped, his chest contracting.__

__Phryne bit her lip at the intensity of it. Pulsing slowly, she sank onto him little by little, almost overcome by the glorious feeling of finally being stretched and filled by him. He was thick and long, and the plump head of his cock hit over and over again just the right place inside her._ _

“ _Oh god oh god Jack_... Slow, darling... slow.... I don't want this to be over,” she cooed, her nipples pebbling into almost painfully hard points. 

They breathed deeply together, grinning. Jack gentled his grip on her hips and Phryne sat still but for the occasional, uncontrolled flutter of her cunt around him. 

“Talk to me, Jack Robinson,” she said, breathless. 

“Is this really what you want to do now, Miss Fisher?” Jack managed, punctuating he question with a teasing smirk and a forceful thrust upwards that made her whimper. 

“Yes,” she said, leaning forward to paint his chest with her nipples. “Tell me what you wanted to do to me, all those months. At my home, at your office...” 

“Over corpses...” Jack's lip curled conspiratorially. Her smile was tender as she undulated her hips, forcing him deeper with each press. 

Jack groaned, and he shot her a sanctioning glare. “If you want me to be able to talk, go slow... _slow_ love...” He stilled her and set a languid pace. 

She relented, reaching forward to sweep the hair off his forehead. 

“I may not be able to name the colour of your gown, Miss Fisher,” Jack growled. “But I think I have every scrap of nearly transparent silk, every slithery beaded dress, every capelet and scarf you have worn in my presence burned into my memory.” Jack trailed his fingers up her sides as he spoke, and she shivered, only partly from the caress. 

Phryne moaned and tilted forward to scrape her teeth over his jaw. “You noticed them _all_ , Jack?” 

“I notice _you_ , Phryne Fisher.” He thrust again, and watched mesmerized as her eyes darkened. 

“The curve of your breast from the side, and if it's cold – or I'm lucky,” he smirked, “the perfect points of your nipples straining the silk... Jesus Phryne.... my tongue ached.... You made me so fucking hard.... Some nights I couldn't speak for wanting to tear the fabric off your body and replace it with my mouth, my hands....” He thrust again, and gave a dirty chuckle as her mouth dropped open in a silent cry, her forehead knitting with the intensity of pleasure. 

Jack's voice was raw and rough as he struggled to keep speaking. “You sit against my desk and your long, pale legs are like arrows, and all I can think is of where they point.” He ran his hands over the porcelain skin of her inner thighs, his thumbs tilting in to meet at the juncture of her body. 

Phryne raked her nails down his chest, mindful of his scar, and pressed harder when she got to the trail of hair that lead to his groin. He shuddered, sucking in a deep breath. 

“What did you want, Jack... What did you want to do with me?” 

“I wanted to kiss you, use my mouth on you, on every inch of you,” he said as he pushed a hand between them. He closed his eyes for a moment as he felt them together, the swollen bud of her clit and beyond that, as she rose and fell, the slick thickness of himself, obscenely wet with her. “Your red lips, your neck, the small of your back, your breast, your core....” 

“I wanted to taste you, Phryne.... I wanted to make you come over and over, and then bury myself in you until we came together so hard....” 

“ _God yes Jack_... Did.... Did you think of me.... as you made yourself come?” Her own breath was heavy and hot, the pitch of her cries at his movements rising. 

He gripped her harder. “Yes,” he whispered. “ _Yes_.” 

“Me too, Jack.... So many t- .. times..... I can't count, I wanted to take you in my h- .. hands... and my mouth...” She licked her lips and Jack's mind was flooded with the image of her on her knees, his cock in her mouth.... 

“Christ, Phryne... I'm so close...” His hips were pistoning upwards, hitting the perfect spot inside her, and he felt her body start to tense. He almost couldn't think... she was wild and wrecked above him, and so goddamn open. She was utterly bare, and he'd never been as cracked open as he was now. He swirled his fingers urgently, forcefully around her clit, feeling her inner muscles squeeze him harder than seemed possible. 

Phryne felt the deep, tugging ache in her belly... _She was so close_.... Her body coiling higher, higher, impossibly tighter... but she wanted so desperately for this never to end. It struck her suddenly – all of the masterful lovers who had ever played her body, all of the spectacular sex she'd ever had, this was simply, utterly different. This wasn't a race to the finish; it was a dance with a partner. For a moment, the weight of that threatened to overwhelm her, but in the hot, white instant before she flew apart, it hit her: this was different from everything, ever, because she loved him. This was Jack. 

She exploded above him, arching, graceful, her head thrown back, her mouth wide in exultation. He watched her as if from outside himself, his vision narrowing to a single point of light. For a blinding second he tried to hold on, to anchor himself in her powerful contractions but it was no use. His whole body splintered into a billion shards of colour before darkness engulfed him. 

He came to still gasping for breath, his chest aching, and found he couldn't care less. Phryne had collapsed on top of him, her head buried in his neck. He could feel her aftershocks fluttering around him as he softened inside her. He wrapped heavy arms around her back, unable even to open his eyes. 

“My... _God_....” Jack managed. 

“How...” she said softly. 

“I have always thought “seeing stars” was just an expression,” Jack rumbled, when he could speak. 

Phryne lifted her head from his chest, and brushed the damp hair from his eyes. “Not if you do it right,” she grinned. But the familiar levity caused a tug in her chest, and she tucked her head back into his side. 

“Easy for you to say, Miss Fisher. I'm fairly sure what ever that was, I've never experienced anything close.” 

He chuckled, closing his eyes again and smoothing a hand down her back. 

Phryne slid off to his side, curling into the curve of his arms. She felt dizzy, and it wasn't simply due to the force of her climax. She knew Jack thought this was common, for her – spectacular sex; and in some ways, so it was. But unsettlingly, this was not at all the same. In fact, it was as different from all of her myriad encounters as... 

_Well_ , she almost smiled, _as Jack Robinson is to all of those men_. 

Phryne's heart beat faster as she realized it: somewhere along the way, she had dropped the mask she wore for her lovers, for lust and fun and assignations. It had fallen away like a dusty old leaf, unmissed, and he had seen right into the core of her. She knew it, because she knew him, because he didn't miss anything, when it came to her; and because she could feel the soft breeze of his gaze on her soul like the first breath of summer on newly bared toes. 

This thing, this baring of herself, was as fragile and tender as a new sapling, and she was shocked to realize that the thing that made her want to protect it, to nurture it, was the warmth and steady pulse of the body beside her. 

“No,” she said softly. 

Jack tilted his head down, a furrow in his brow. “Phryne?” He tried to steady his voice, but his hand stilled its tracery of her skin. “Did I.... Are you alright?” 

“No. I mean...” Her fingers began drawing invisible words on his chest, and he saw her eyelashes flutter. “That... you.... this is not....” She took a shallow breath. “You say you haven't experienced that before...” 

“I haven't, Phryne. Not ever, but...” He was about to continue, to tell her not to be anxious, that he wasn't asking for reciprocity; he was just giving her truth. But her words, spoken into his skin, stopped him short. 

“Me neither.” 

She stared at her fingers, tangling gently in the tawny hair on his chest, and finally, smiled. 

“You are my love, Jack Robinson. You are so deep in my heart I can't even speak it.” There was a long pause. “I want everything with you.” 

Jack's mouth opened but the blur in his vision stopped his words. He lay back against the white pillows and brought her in tighter to him, as though to stem the flow of his heart through every pore. Finally, he cleared the roughness from his voice and resumed his careful mapping of her back. 

“That works out well, then.” 

He felt her cheeks plump in a smile. 

“And Jack?” 

“Yes, love...” 

“All of those... delicious.... things you said?” 

The barest hint of a grin played at the corner of his mouth. 

“I'm going to hold you to every one.” 


End file.
